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THE BORDER HEARTH 

A LEGEND OF THE DELAWARE 
INDIANS, WRITTEN 1800 



BY 

WILLIAM CHANDLER 



Press of 

The New era printing Coupant 

Lancaster. Pa. 

1912 






This legend of the Delaware Indians was written to 
while away the winter evenings fifty-seven years ago at 
Belvidere, N. J. The manuscript was laid away and 
almost forgotten. My grandchildren, rummaging in the 
attic, found it, old and faded. At their request I have 
printed it for them, as a souvenir of fading memories. 



Copyright. 19 12 
By William Chandler. 



/ 



gCI.A;^20561 



THE HUNTER'S HOME. 

Rude winter's blasts are whirling by, 
And crackling embers upward fly 
From faggots of the winter's store, 
With which the hearth is cover'd o'er. 
By end of which stands grandpa's chair, 
A seat which none presume to share 
But grandpa's pet, — his pride and joy — 
A merry, restless, cheerful boy. 
The trembling knees of good grandsire 
To climb full oft he does aspire, 
Or bask him, 'twixt them and the fire. 
Around the table strong and rude, 
By varnish gloss or paint unhued 
The busy family all arrange. 
And laughing urchins there exchange 
The merry and forbidden glance, 
At ev'ry fav'ring turn of chance. 
For brothers bold and sisters coy 
Vainly essay time to employ. 
Despite of all paternal care. 
Young roguery will have its share. 
The farmer's hand, brown with the toil 
Of guiding plough through gen'rous soil. 
Grasps now a manuscript of lore. 
Which eagerly he's conning o'er, 
Whiling away the wintry hours 
In wisdom's fertile fields and bowers. 
His piercing eyes, with darkling lash, 
Which o'er the ancient pages flash. 



Betoken, quick and keen of ken, 

A feature of the frontier men. 

And needed was the watchful eye 

The wily Indians to espy. 

For oft they lurked in silent glen 

Till set of ev'ning sun, and then, 

With list'ning ear close bent to ground, 

Like wary serpent he would glide 

Through fen and brake his tawny hide. 

And prowl about the homes of men, 

Till breaking day warned him again 

To steal back in deep forest shade 

The wary Redman's ambuscade. 

Beside the father's form stalwart 

The eldest son, his counterpart, 

Sharpens the flint of blackened gun 

Once used by a departed one, 

Who now lies buried 'neath the dust, 

His trusty rifle red with rust. 

Till by neglect it's dusted o'er. 

And flimsy cobwebs fill the bore. 

Yet needs must try the marksman youth 

Of ancient piece the power and truth; 

For old men say "that when it rung 

Its sharp report the hills among, 

Ne'er failed the bullet to go through 

The targe if aimed by marksman true." 

And now again the truth, I ween. 

By youthful hunter will be seen. 

For truer eye or better shot 

'Mong youthful Nimrods there is not. 

His father him had taught the skill 

To hit the distant mark at will; 

And often he enriched their cheer 



5 

With venison of wild red deer; 
And none enjoyed with better heart 
Than he who played the hunter's part. 

The next to grace this cheerful scene 

Was maiden fair of lovely mien, 

Whose willing fingers lightly ply 

The sparkling needles as they fly 

To weave a wreath, of varied dyes, 

Under her careful guiding eyes. 

Ready at hand, in heaps profuse. 

Lay pliant hairs of antlered moose, 

Colored by Indian's native skill 

To please the most exacting will. 

And brilliant plumes in chance array, 

The varied hues and tints display 

That sparkle on the wood bird's breast 

Or glitter on the eagle's crest. 

These Mary knew to work within 

The wreaths upon her moccasin, 

With taste and such artistic skill 

As fancied her capricious will. 

A finished one so small and neat, 

The latchet strings and all complete, 

Upon the oaken table lay. 

E'en maidens of the present day 

Would pride themselves could they but don 

The moccasins by her put on 

Without the fear of bursting lace 

Or opening seams for want of space. 

Health and comfort led fashion then 

Which they will rarely do again. 

No rustling silks or rich brocade 

Clothed Mary's form, but homespun plaid 



So closely wove and with such skill 
That she could smile at winter's chill 
And piercing blasts; which often played 
About her form, yet vain essayed 
To paint her cheeks a chilly blue, 
Only imparting ruddy hue. 
Then brushing by in eddying whirls, 
Her snowy neck and auburn curls. 
As if ashamed of mischief meant 
Accept defeat, their punishment. 

Since when a gay and rambling child 

By sparkling streams, and mountains wild, 

Which rippled past her father's cot, 

A wild sequestered rustic spot, 

Companions few, save wild birds free 

Or lambkins frisking on the lea, 

Were wont with her to have a share 

In rambles round, or e'en a care. 

With such as these, midst nature's wild, 

Grew up the pretty frontier child, 

In beauty rare, till now one could 

Behold in blooming maidenhood 

A wild flower of the wilderness 

In all its native loveliness. 

Reared far from all the ways and wiles 

Of city's tangled life and styles. 

Where fickle fortune holds her sway, 

And fashion changes with the day. 

There wealth and art are both combined 

To polish and perfect the mind. 

Advantage such she ne'er had seen 

Or to a city ever been. 

Yet deem her not in ways uncouth, 



For she was gracefulness in truth. 
The studied ways and foreign air 
We often meet in modern fair 
Formed of her loveliness no part 
And rarely grace a maiden's heart. 
'Twas artlessly she lent her aid 
To Cupid, skillful at his trade, 
Whose piercing arrows, sure and keen, 
Cleft many a hunter's heart, I ween. 
Yet for the wounds none bore her ill, 
But offered each as target still ; 
Ev'ry hunter on the border 
Hoped to be fair Mary's warder. 
And willingly might one forego 
Such cares for happiness to know. 
To him was given a heart and hand 
Truest and fairest in the land; 
To keep as hostages how well 
Let lovers say, and parents tell. 

Youth and beauty were Mary's share; 

Her mother equally was fair; 

Yet Father Time had come apace 

And ta'en away her youthful face. 

Whose semblance once had formed the theme 

Of many a lover's midnight dream; 

And lightly he had touched her head 

With here and there a silver thread. 

And in all ways her altered face 

Bespoke a heart the treasure place 

Of all the family's joys and cares, 

Ample enough for all their shares. 

In all this cheerful group around 

Busier one cannot be found. 



8 



Well skilled to use the knitting wands, 

How mystical her willing hands. 

Fashion the woolen yarns as best 

Suits nature's wants and each behest. 

To older ones, some wiser grown, 

Experience has clearly shown 

That stockings not for warmth depend 

On how the various colors blend; 

But 'tis to favor the caprice 

Of little sister Beatrice, 

Who truly thinks that white and blue 

Are warm enough — and pretty too; 

And babies' socks, 'tis saying trite. 

Should be ringed round with red and white; 

So envy none the extra care 

And patience on the little pair 

Which mother has been pleased to take 

All for her own dear baby's sake, 

Upon whose tiny face anon 

As glide the passing moments on 

She fondly looks, with wistful eyes 

And love to guard her darling prize 

That, nestled warm from winter dread 

By mother's side in rocking bed, 

Sleeps soundly with its little dream 

That mother watches o'er the scene 

And will protect from cold and harms 

Her little baby in her arms. 

E'en now the storm still harsher blew 
And 'gainst the panes the snowflakes flew, 
Whilst higher twirled from blazing hearth 
The genial flames, where fireside mirth 
Oft basked himself despite the gale, 



And whiled the time with border tale. 
But now that welcome voice was still ; 
No sound was heard save from the hill, 
Whose moaning winds around it bleak, 
Strove higher to the mountain's peak. 
'Twas such a silence none could brook 
Who pleasures much in stories took 
And loved to hear recounted o'er 
The deeds of settlers done before. 

Sometime Will gazed upon the fire; 

Then fixed his eyes on good grandsire, 

Who, half asleep and half awake, 

In the domestic chair of state 

Was nodding, as he oft had done. 

In the old chair disturbed by none. 

E'en Will himself dared scarcely task 

The great obtrusiveness to ask; 

Yet, climbing on his grandpa's knees. 

Said: "Grandpa, tell a story please; 

To do so, once, you promised me 

If I would try a good boy be." 

Then 'round his neck, with childlike grace. 

He threw his arms in warm embrace, 

Repeating still: "Grandpa, do tell 

Of your young days, and what befel 

When first you came a stranger here 

To make your home and hunt the deer." 

"A story, yes," they all replied, 

"That one to us so long denied. 

Which tells us of your varied life, 

So fraught with scenes of forest strife." 



10 



GRANDFATHER'S STORY. 

"Of my adventurous life I'll tell; 

Its stirring scenes, remembered well, 

May serve perchance to while the hours 

Within this happy home of ours. 

When I can be no longer here 

To join, with you, our fireside cheer." 

His last remark cast o'er each face 

Of boding grief a darksome trace. 

But quickly now the shades dispel, 

As he begins his tale to tell. 

"A hunter hither first I came 

To dwell, mid plenty forest game. 

Then on these pleasant hillside lawns 

Well slept and frisked the spotted fawns, 

Whilst down within the valley here 

The does fed with the antlered deer. 

And when the shades of evening fell 

Came with them too the panther's yell; 

Or else perchance the piercing scream 

Of mountain cats by rocks and stream 

Was echoed to the distant hills 

And frightened forth the whippoorwills. 

Often within my cabin lone 

I've been awaked by loosened stone. 

Which, started by the shaggy bear. 

Late climbing to his rocky lair, 

Went whirling down the mountainside 

With bound and crash through branches dried, 

Until repeating echoes tell 

Where far down in the vale it fell. 

Again to court sleep's sweet repose 

'Twould be in vain my eyes to close. 



II 



Oft thus awake, the midnight hours, 
When night her sable curtain lowers, 
Upon my bearskin couch have found 
Me fast in pleasant rev'ries bound; 
Or list'ning as came to my room, 
Borne trembling on the startled gloom, 
The gray wolf's howl, which called away 
In chase of new discovered prey 
His gaunt companions, who the trail 
To keep the darkest night ne'er fail; 
As with their tireless pace they fag 
The proud and nimble fleeing stag. 
When camped out in the woods by night, 
My lighted watch fires burning bright, 
I've heard them come with stealthy tread 
Quite close beside my leafy bed; 
Then stop awhile, to sniff the air, 
And look within the circle's glare; 
Then start again ; and thus their tramp 
Would last all night around my camp, 
Till, scared by light of morning gray. 
They dash into the woods away. 
Then I was young, and loved to roam 
These then wild woods traversed by none 
Beside the forest's dusky men. 
The lords of lake and woodlands then. 
And hardy hunters, bold and true, 
Who well their wiles to practice knew. 
My cabin then my rustic home; 
I thought nor cared for better, none. 
My memory pictures to me, still. 
How well it looked beside the hill, 
Within its shaded forest nook. 
In sound of a clear tinkling brook. 



12 



Which, like a wild sprite, happy thing, 
Went bounding down with joyous ring. 
Against its unhewed wall within 
Was fastened many a different skin 
Of panther, otter, deer, and bear. 
Hung 'round in careless contrast there. 
A pair of branching staghorns wide 
Above my rude fireplace was tied, 
Where, idle from the hunt, I hung 
My horn and rifle in among. 
My cabin had for hangings none 
But called to mind some venture done. 
And told that with my rifle true 
I brought me sport and profit too. 
That summer, 'mid these valleys free, 
The grounds of Leninlenape 
I roamed, nor saw an Indian's face, 
Yet often found their trails and trace, 
Where they had rested for the night 
Around their campfires kindled bright. 

"As oft, returned from ended chase 
With weighty spoils and slackened pace. 
My forest fare enjoyed with zest, 
I weary sat me down to rest 
Upon my cabin's rude step stone. 
To muse on nature's work, alone. 
'Twas autumn and the leaves were sere 
With varied colors far and near; 
The valley shone in russet brown, 
A mottled landscape far adown. 
With spots of yellow, red and green. 
And dancing sunbeams lit the scene. 
The western sun, with slanting beam, 



13 

Covered with twinkling silver sheen. 

The Delaware, which, flowing on. 

Soon in its curving course was gone. 

A thirsty stag the hill descends; 

With cautious, noiseless steps he wends 

His way down to the river's brink 

And bows his antlered head to drink. 

It seemed that Nature here had smiled, 

So picturesque, so grand and wild. 

Lay the whole scene, that it held me 

Enchanted, bound in reverie. 

'Twas ended by a circling smoke 

That upward from the forest broke 

In circles to'rds the azure sky. 

Warning an Indians' camp was nigh. 

Darkness had spread her gloomy cowl 

And boding hooted forth the owl. 

As silently I stole away 

To where the Indians quiet lay. 

Silent as panthers watch the deer 

So silent I, the camp when near. 

Crouched in the uncertain shade 

As by the flick'ring camplight made. 

And careful scanned the lighted space, 

Observing well each form and place. 

It was a war party, returned. 

Which 'gainst a neighb'ring tribe had burn'd 

With deep revenge insatiate, 

Till now they'd quenched their deadly hate. 

'Twas ended with their foeman's life. 

Their arbiters the spear and knife. 

On blankets spread upon the ground 

The Indians scattered lay around 

And stretched their weary limbs to rest 



14 

As suited each his comfort best. 
Against a tree, the sentinel, 
Who Httle knew that all was well, 
Sat with his head upon his breast, 
All sense of care by sleep opprest. 
Between two painted warriors wild, 
In fetters sat a chieftain's child. 
Fast by her arms securely tied. 
All hope of rescue seemed denied. 
About her brow was placed a wreath, 
Her ample hair was free beneath ; 
In wild disordered locks it lay 
As left by meddling winds astray. 
About her form her robe was wound 
Of wolf's skin, silver, gray, and bound 
With beaver's fur the edge around. 
All slept save her; she could not sleep; 
A captive maid she could but weep. 
I pitied her, alone, forlorn, 
A captive from her kindred torn. 
It nerved my heart to save the maid 
Though sleeping near her captors laid. 
My rifle closer then I drew. 
Upon the ground myself I threw, 
And slowly crept the Indians near. 
So close their breathings I could hear, 
When sudden 'neath my body broke 
A brittle twig, so loud it woke 
A brawny savage slumb'ring near; 
Yet, trusting not his sleepy ear. 
He turned again in listless doze, 
Nor dreamed his foeman was so close. 
Not so the maid, she closely eyed 
Me slowly stealing near her side. 



15 

With noiseless stroke I loosed her bands 
My hunting knife reached to her hands; 
Then shadow-like from tree to tree, 
Till from immediate danger free, 
Onward we fled with hurried pace 
And met a warrior face to face. 
An instant and a shot had passed. 
That instant they each other clasped 
In such embrace as lovers give 
Who doubtful are that either live. 
He was her father's bravest brave 
And proffered life his love to save. 
He'd traced their trail by night and day 
Over a long and devious way. 
And, finding where their camp was made, 
Cautious, was coming for the maid. 
With speed we reached the river's side. 
His birchen bark he quick untied; 
But ere she left, the maid undid 
Her necklace from her neck, and bid 
That then her gift I would receive; 
' Which when my father sees, believe, 
He'll cover you with furs and gold 
And sparkling gems of worth untold.' 
'Twas spoken from her generous heart. 
'This necklace's all shall be my part 
And with your thank's sufficient meed. 
And much o'er pays me for the deed.' 
The warrior proffered then his hand, 
And called to witness stars and land, 
That firm as rock, e'en to the grave, 
His friendship for the palefaced brave. 
Then lightly 'round his birch bark swings. 
As lightly in the maiden springs; 



l6 

A graceful courtesy she made, 
As, wafted by the ashen blade, 
The light canoe sped swiftly on 
And, buried in the gloom, was gone. 

The Coming of an Old Hunter and His Family.. 

"Autumn was gone and winter past 

And with it too the warring blast. 

Boldly the spring began to trace 

The features of his peering face. 

On bush and bank, on bud and tree 

E'en gentle hummed the wildwood bee, 

When, lured by the existing game. 

An old and fearless trapper came. 

His little household all had come 

To share with him his wildwood home, 

The wife with sweet and happy air 

And Sylvia their woodland fair; 

For oft the trapper's glowing tale 

Had told them of his fav'rite vale; 

Where to the silv'ry waters clear. 

Came down and drank the antlered deer; 

Or fed beneath the oak trees tall 

From off the circling mountain wall." 

As he recalled fair Sylvia's name. 

Unbidden then the kind tears came, 

And some looked up and wondered why 

From grandpapa escaped a sigh. 

"Through all this country far and near, 

Beside its winding brooks and clear, '^\ 

Wild plums scattered on the ground, 

As ripened by the sun were found, 

Where broad the elm trees cast their shade 

And twining vines rude arbors made. 



17 

Whilst pendent from their branches hung 

Rich purpled clustered grapes among, 

And o'er this range of mountains blue 

With that old trapper, brave and true. 

Oft have I chased the flying prey 

From morning's light, to evening gray; 

And then our camp light's glaring blaze 

Would lighten up the mountain's haze. 

Thus resting from our toilsome chase 

His former life would he retrace, 

Of dangers met that him befel. 

By lake and stream, by rock and dell, 

Till drowsy sleep our senses bound 

In sweet forgetfulness profound. 

Returning from our lengthened hunt. 

Expectant Sylvia was wont 

To come with flying footsteps fleet, 

Her kind and aged sire to meet; 

Then brighten would the old man's face. 

Forgotten be his tired pace. 

For she was all his doting pride. 

None other child had he beside. 

Oft aided by her rustic skill 

For her the wildflowers on the hill 

With cedar sprigs of evergreen 

To gem the flowers in atween, 

I've culled with a delighted care 

For wreaths to bind her bonny hair, 

As she would hasten him to meet 

With glowing cheeks and welcome sweet. 

These she would take with careless care. 

Yet well I marked there was a care; 

Trivial gifts do oft prevail 

To tell of love a wooing tale, 



Where princely gifts of fabled price, 

Curious wrought with love's device, 

Leave no more impress on the mind 

Than bursted bubbles on the wind. 

Though master of no magic art 

To work enchantments on the heart, 

Yet ere the moon did wax and wane 

And to the full was come again, 

Seated beneath a spreading shade 

Through which the gentle moonbeams played, 

Spangling the mossy mound below 

Alternately with shade and glow. 

To Sylvia fair I then addressed 

The impulse of my heart's behest. 

' Tomorrow I shall haste away 

O'er the wild woods, untrodden way. 

Mayhap for e'er I'll absent be; 

Perchance as such condemned by thee. 

Howe'er it be I cannot tell, 

For truly I have loved thee well. 

Perhaps unwisely, then too long. 

Wilt pardon me the generous wrong? 

E'en more Pve dared the lover's part, 

To sue for Sylvia's hand and heart. 

Should your displeasure you decree, 

Forgotten then must Sylvia be. 

No more Pll dream in camp at night 

Of all the future fair and bright. 

With sunny smiles, fair circling arms. 

And Sylvia's soul-inspiring charms. 

On mem'ry then this charmed spell 

Will leave regret without farewell.' 



19 

Sylvia: 
* Unconscious I of all these ills; 
Fair Sylvia but little wills 
That you should ever banished be, 
For love, from happiness and me. 
Much less tomorrow's earliest ray 
Such gallant hunter far away 
Should tortured be with hidden smart, 
If shield him can a maiden's heart. 
Should absence in the long spring chase 
Kind thoughts for Sylvia not erase. 
Then welcome hie the hunter free 
To home and happiness and me.' 

Away. 
"When morning dawned its earliest gleam 
My light canoe far up the stream 
The silver ripples cast aside 
As broke the prow the limpid tide. 
In early life I learned the skill 
To guide my light canoe at will 
Along the gently winding shore 
Or onward through the rapid's roar. 
My bark canoe concealed with care, 
At set of sun I camped me where 
The mountains rise steep, stern and bare. 
Grim watchers o'er the Delaware, 
Where far adown the waters flow 
As on the merry minstrels go; 
Exerting still their Orphean skill. 
They bind the Kittaning at will. 
Three suns beside the varying shore 
Constant was plied my dripping oar. 
Then westward from the running flood 



20 

I plunged into the tangled wood. 

Six camps had marked my devious way 

Since from the Delaware it lay. 

The sun his course had nearly run, 

When rose the hidden water's hum, 

And having scaled the mountain's height 

The Susquehanna burst in sight. 

Gently fell each lingering ray 

As mountain-girt Wyoming lay 

Spread out beneath my very feet. 

New beauties each successive greet 

My changing view, as far and wide 

I scan the vale and burnished tide 

Of Susquehanna's sparkling vest 

Reflected from the valley's breast. 

It was a glorious sunset scene 

Mid mountains wild and valleys green. 

Swift to the highlands flocked the birds 

And homeward wound the lowing herds, 

The merry milkmaid trilled her lay, 

The mountains echoed it away, 

And plaintive rose the vesper bleat 

From distant lambkins frisking fleet. 

But see ! The peaceful scene has changed ; 

Where far the outmost mountains ranged 

A troop of horsemen swept in view. 

As the distance lessening grew 

You might descry they'd ridden far; 

Their garb bespoke them from the war. 

On, on they fly across the plain, 

Nor slacken pace, nor slackened rein. 

Though grim with dust and soiled their gear 

They onward urge their wild career 

Till at the garrison they halt 



21 

And from their tired coursers vault. 
Not thus they come in idle sport 
But something bear of deep import. 
MingHng with the gathering mass 
Long time unnoticed thus I pass 
And learn the news of Border War, 
Of demon strife and death and scar. 
For gath'ring fast in wood and glen 
Are hordes of red and tory men. 
That ere the waning moon was gone 
We'd hear of deeds of horror done; 
As back the circling mountains ring 
The onset yells in Wyoming. 
Ere vanished had the morning dew 
The chiefs in earnest counsel drew 
And warmly strove in stern debate, 
For different are the plans they state. 
Some think t'avert disastrous war 
Within the fort 'twere better far 
To wait some messengers delayed 
And with them too expected aid. 
Though brave our warriors and true 
And all that heroes dare can do. 
Ruin would mark a rash attack, 
Our vanquished soldiers forced aback 
'Gainst fearful odds of treacherous foes 
Must yield in battle's desperate close. 
Better we'd fall mid battle's strife 
Than, conquered, lead a captive's life; 
And worse, our wives and children all 
Must leave to foes who demons 'pall, 
With deeds of fierce and cruel strife. 
With vengeance, torture, blood and knife. 
Who shout and howl at sight of death 



22 

And wrangle for the latest breath. 

Others affirm the doubtful war 

And most uncertain aid from far 

Beset by ambushed Indian scout 

Lurking our garrison about; 

Ere this our messengers had won 

Had not their earthly course been done. 

Ripening is the bearded grain, 

Yellow it waves upon the plain, 

'Twill give our foemen fresh supply; 

Whilst lessening stores our hopes deny 

Support for long remaining here 

Within the fort secure from fear 

Of treacherous wiles or onsets long. 

E'en though our fort were stored and strong. 

Then shall we court starvation's woes 

And famished yield to gathering foes? 

Will listen to the infants' wail, 

As faint they cry a piteous tale 

Of parched breasts; and mother wild 

With anguish o'er her dying child? 

'Mid faces wan and scenes as these 

Can men and soldiers rest at ease? 

Let us seize the auspicious hour 

E'er darker clouds around us lower. 

We in the God of battles trust, 

Nature proclaims our cause is just, 

Our friends, our kindred, loves and life 

Will make us heroes in the strife. 

These with their arguments prevail 

To try our cause in battle's scale. 

Marshalled were our forces then. 

The beardless youths and aged men 

Who had not borne for many a day 



_i_ 



23 

The weight of arms, in firm array 
As men in manhood's strength prepared, 
And eager in the dangers shared. 
Butler, the settlers' friend and true, 
Our little force in order drew, 
Cheering us with his word and hand. 
And o'er us held the chief command. 
Now to advance our orders call 
And sad adieus are bid to all ; 
Long from the fort the maids and wives 
With breaking hearts and tearful eyes 
Watched our progress o'er the plain, 
A sight they ne'er might see again. 
At Wintermoot the foemen are 
Preparing for the Border War. 
Came hitherward our scouts with speed 
And of their swiftness there is need ; 
For prowling bands have learned of harm 
And to their kindred bear alarm. 
All unsurprised in war array 
We find the foe for battle's fray; 
As wolves expectant desperate prey. 
The Tory lines impatient sway, 
And dusky hordes in war gear trimmed 
All in their warrior paint begrimed, 
Can scarcely from the fight refrain 
While martial law and skill restrain. 
Such met our ranks. Then, fearful spell, 
Burst loud and long their onset yell. 
Gleamed the tomahawks in the sun. 
Death, strife and carnage have begun. 
From rank to rank the volleys flew. 
And mangled corses 'round us strew. 
Fury and hate join in the strife. 



24 

Brother with brother tugs for Hfe, 

And lusty son tor'ds tottering sire 

Know all the force of foeman's ire. 

Where painted braves their war clubs wield 

In misty circles o'er the field, 

Their maniac rage and slaughter tell 

As swift the whirling forces fell. 

Firm set as rock the settlers tried 

To stem the course of battle's tide. 

'Gainst fearful odds 'twas nobly done, 

Hope lent a ray of vict'ry won. 

Delusive hope! Our battle call 

Unheard by some has ruined all. 

Confusion runs along the line, 

The foemen seize the fav'red time; 

Rout, ruin, rapine follow on ; 

Farewell to hopes of vict'ry won. 

Our ranks retreat a scattered mass; 

Some perish in the deep morass; 

Others the woods prefer in flight. 

Trusting to speed till coming night. 

With some we seek the river's side 

And plunge into the downward tide. 

An island's friendly shore to gain; 

Our limbs were plied with might and main. 

Yet ere we reached the tangled side 

Many a struggling comrade died. 

Like dropping hail the bullets fell, 

And loud arose their baffled yell 

Which, ill supprest, the Indians will 

Who saw the trophies of their skill 

Elude their grasp, sink in the tide, 

Nor dangle at the warrior's side. 

The remnant of our scattered force 






25 

Fortward held a dangerous course. 
On, on, their weary footsteps fly; 
The foe is swift and pressing nigh. 
Friends from the fort the contest view 
Hope fires the settlers' hearts anew. 
Instant the doors wide open flew 
Then closed behind the flying few. 

"Night now has spread her sable pall. 
A solemn darkness broods o'er all, 
And many a widowed mother prest 
Her orphaned child close to her breast. 
Wept many a maid her grief alone 
For lover now forever gone. 
The valley's turf his couch is made 
And death his corpse has stilly laid. 
Nor have the foe from ruin turned ; 
E'en now the settlers' homes are burned. 
The forked flames dart fierce and high. 
Roll smoke and embers to'rds the sky. 
But smouldring ruins o'er the plain 
Tomorrow'll mark all that remain. 
Where was the happy settler's hearth 
Now razed level to the earth. 
The moon her nightly course has run 
And comes again the honest sun, 
Melting the treacherous gloom of night, 
Which hid, but not erased, a sight 
That filled Wyoming's charming vale. 
At sights as that the bravest pale; 
Maidens in vain their fears repress; 
Matrons instinctive closer press 
Their offspring in maternal clasp 
As though to save from threatened grasp 



26 



Of ruthless ones, who'd tear away 
Their present hopes and future stay. 
No loitering schoolboy on the way 
Then whiled his wasting time in play, 
Nor twanged the early mower's scythe 
As swung by rustic reapers blithe. 
The kine are slaughtered one and all ; 
The steed, untied, has fled his stall. 
And wasting fast in wreaths of flame 
Is the ungathered golden grain. 
All that enriched and pleased and cheered 
The valesmen's homes have disappeared. 
Ruin and desolation wide 
Mark their trace on every side. 
Plundering bands and sweeping flame 
Have devastated all the plain. 
And gathered is the horde once more 
In groups, the garrison before. 
In numbers small, of hope bereft, 
To the besieged all that is left 
Is stern defense as warriors can. 
Wasting in numbers man by man. 
Lasts life and limb to strike a blow, 
They shout defiance at the foe, 
And leave in death heroic fame 
To rouse avengers to their name. 

" But hear! The foe now generous are 
And parley thus to end the war. 
O'er earned is now the victor's meed, 
For future strife none is the need, 
And to avert more bloody scenes 
Be this our common choice and means: 
Secure from further warlike harms 



27 

If yielded is each warrior's arms, 
Babes and children, defenders all. 
Now compassed by defiant wall 
Shall go released, unscathed and free; 
These lands endeared their home shall be, 
Provided none with hostile arm 
Shall seek our future wrong or harm. 
Unbolted is the guarding bar, 
Delivered are the arms of war, 
Within exultant victors go, 
Commingle now the friend and foe. 

" Oh, direful trust! Oh, fatal spell! 
Treachery pealed her signal yell 
And dark revenge renews the strife. 
Nor spares the aged, the maid or wife. 
Unheeded are the mother's cries, 
Her outstretched arms and tearful eyes. 
The glittering blade but glimmers high. 
And stills in death her piteous cry. 
Age, strength and beauty fare ye well. 
Ye perish in the demon spell. 
' Defenseless all, without a cause, 
Yet sacrificed 'gainst honor's laws,' 
Though some at scenes as these elate, 
The brave and good lament thy fate. 
And often 'round the border hearth 
Will run a chill to fireside mirth 
As some relate the tragic tale 
Of once Wyoming's happy vale. 

Part 6th. Return. 
"Three suns the islands covert shade 
Secure my place of refuge made. 



28 

Thrice came the Indians searching near, 
Thrice their departing steps I hear. 
As soon as night grew dark apace, 
Wary I left my hiding place, 
Reached once again the river's tide; 
My wearied Hmbs were noiseless plied. 
Awhile I held the river's course, 
Borne swiftly on its watery force, 
'Till, more immediate danger o'er, 
I drew me to the welcome shore. 

"Watching and hunger, wet and care 
For future toil did ill prepare. 
Yet hope and danger urge me on 
At once into the woods be gone. 
Lonely, I wound my darksome way, 
Save where the frightened deer away 
Sped swiftly through the brushy wood, 
Or rabbit in my pathway stood 
With ears erect and timid eye, 
Till near approached; then frightened, fly. 
In doubtful circles, 'mong the trees. 
To safer haunts 'neath bush or leaves. 

"The sun had coursed across the sky 
And shades of night were gathering nigh. 
As entered was a deep ravine 
With lofty elms the sides between. 
When passing down its gloomy way, 
* Tu-whit tu-whoo,' a watcher gray 
Spoke solemn from o'erhanging tree. 
And mournful seemed the gloom to be. 
Still farther in the darkest shade 
Alone my secret camp I made, 



29 

Where closer branches lace and tie, 
Defiant to the searching eye. 
My rusted rifle warmed and dried, 
The charge renewed, and by my side. 
My trusted friend if needs might seem, 
I laid me down to sleep and dream. 
A wolf returning to his lair 
Found a strange comrade waiting there. 
Twelve suns their course had almost run, 
Nor my adventure journey done. 
When to the Eastward, far away, 
My vale-encircling mountains lay. 
Oh pleasant sight! to me most dear, 
Again my partial haunts appear. 

"The moon had gone far up the sky, 
The stars were twinkling soft and shy. 
And a few embers flick'ring shone 
When I had reached the trapper's home. 
Eager, I struck the oaken door, 
The stag hound crouched upon the floor, 
And low, then gave a smothered growl, 
As though intruders round did prowl. 
Instant, the wary trapper woke; 
Grasping his rifle, thus he spoke: 
'Who comes so late? A friend or foe? 
By this his friendship I will know: 
The unbarred door swing open wide, 
Enter within my cabin's side. 
A foe in want, much more a friend 
Lost or bewildered, I'll befriend.' 
Relighted was the torch of pine 
The hunter's hand grasped warm in mine; 
And Sylvia too did winsome come 



30 

To glad the weary hunter home. 
To ears intent, I then did tell 
Of the adventures which befel 
In hunt and toil and battle's fray 
Since from the hunter's home away. 
Ere yet the thrilling tale was done 
The early beams of day had come 
And on the mountain tops and spray 
The morning dews had fled away. 

Building Our Home. 
"Autumn had worn his varied vest, 
Old winter too had gone to rest. 
The while a settler's axe I plied 
And near the trapper's lodge beside, 
Where waved once the spreading wood, 
Thereon my rustic cabin stood, 
And, Sylvia presiding, seemed 
Our mutual vows had been redeemed. 

"Time added settlers to our band. 
The dark woods faded from the land, 
And timid lambs fed on the green 
Where startled once the panther's scream. 
Then these fair lands and waters clear 
Inspired the name of Belvidere. 
Our present home had grown too small, 
Enlarged had been its roof and wall. 
Daughters and sons of border worth 
Had gathered round our cheerful hearth. 
And Sylvia wore a plainer face, 
A nobler mien and statelier grace; 
Yet held withal the power to please — 
Autumn but beautifies the leaves. 



R u l^.B ^ 



31 

Ten snows and nine had wreathed our home 

And wintry blasts again had come. 

As now the fire blazed warm and clear 

And gave a zest to evening's cheer, 

When an old Indian crossed our door 

And strode the blazing hearth before. 

Abrupt our social pleasures broke; 

In the brief interval he spoke: 

'The pale face hears the drifting snow, 

Must the lone Indian further go? 

My wigwam's blaze once welcomed me; 

Alas! again it cannot be. 

Wilt share with me thy wigwam's flame 

Till coming day is once again?' 

His boon was granted ; soon as asked 

We gave him of our plain repast, 

Welcomed him beneath our roof. 

And of our friendship gave him proof, 

By kindly words and kindly deed ; 

For present care none was the need. 

Weary, he slept 'till break of day. 

Then girt his blanket to away; 

Yet paused awhile, as though his heart 

Besides his thanks would some impart. 

Grasping his wither'd hand in mine, 

* Behold ' said he ' the Riven Pine. 

'Tis many moons since first we met. 

That meeting I cannot forget. 

It was at midnight's lonely hour, 

A maiden in the Mohawk's power. 

The pale face then returned to me 

The song bird of the Lennape. 

'Twas then that Windfoot made a vow, 

And he has kept it true, till now; 



:P 24'l9l2 



32 

His friendship for the pale-faced brave 

Would lasting be e'en to the grave. 

My sons have yielded each his life; 

Like braves they fell in battle's strife. 

Song Bird lives in the Spirit home, 

Yet Windfoot lingers here alone. 

My wigwam's fire is cold and gray, 

And wastes the warrior's arm away. 

No longer my request delay. 

Great Spirit, welcome me away 

To fairer lands and sunnier skies, 

Where the brave Indian never dies. 

Unbowed by toil, un vexed by care 

He ever breathes a purer air. 

Soon midst those ever-blooming trees 

The Song Bird of the Lennapes, 

More beauteous now, will bounding come 

And greet me to her Spirit Home.' 

Not yet did Windfoot leave our home. 

When the winds of May sighed soft and bland 

Windfoot went to the spirit land. 

The wasting mound, on yonder hill, 

Marks the lone grave of Windfoot still." 

Finis. 



Dedicated to my Granddaughter 
VERNA CLARE CHANDLER. 













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